Politically Incorrect
by Gretchie
Summary: What if Branson had stopped Sybil from attending the by-election where she got hurt? Oneshot depicting my thoughts on what would have happened.


**_This story takes place in season one, the episode where Sybil gets hurt at the by-election._****_Author's Note: I do not own Downton Abbey or any of its characters._****_Please review! I would love criticism so I can write better stories in the future!_**

"Are you sure the meeting is here, mi'lady?" Branson asked, the uneasiness growing in his chest, as he drove in the crowded and chaotic part of Ripon.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Of course it's here!"

Branson snuck a look back at the dark-haired beauty. Despite his hatred for the aristocracy, he couldn't help but feel a growing admiration for the girl. Branson refused to call his attachment love, but he had to admit that her characteristics had defied all of his expectations for the youngest daughter of an Earl. She was smart, spirited, and kind to all, not just members of her own class.

As they continued up the congested street, the shouting grew louder. Suddenly it ocurred to Branson that this was the part of Ripon that the by-election was being held at. He hoped he could drop in for a few minutes while Sybil attended her meeting.

"Stop!" Sybil bursted.

Frightened, Branson pulled into the next available spot. Sybil climbed out before he could open the door for her.

Sybil's plan dawned on Branson. She lied about her meeting so she could attend the by-election! Branson felt a mixture of pride and fear, the former because of her determination, the latter because of her disobedience. Surely Lord Grantham would blame him, and then he'd lose his job!

"Your father is not going to be pleased," Branson warned.

Sybil sighed, "Let me worry about Papa." She grinned, and walked into the forum.

Branson swore under his breath. Before he could contemplate what to do, he saw a truck pull up a block away. Out piled several beefy, drunken men. They headed toward the forum as well, with scowls on their faces.

Gangs like this meant trouble. Branson had seen his fair share of fights, and he knew how to spot the groups. He had to get Sybil out of there as fast as he could. He threw his cap on the seat, and even though the car was practically in the road, he left it and ran inside.

Sybil was simple to spot. She was the nicest dressed out of everyone there. Branson knew that she would be an easy target for the gang. He made his way over to her.

"Mi'lady, we need to go now! There's trouble coming!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Branson! We haven't seen one speech yet!"

"Mi'lady, I don't want to force you, but you could be seriously hurt if we stay. I could lose my job!"

Sybil scoffed. "I'm not leaving until I see this speaker."

Branson was close to panic. He saw the gang enter the forum. A red-haired member caught sight of Sybil, in all her finery, and grinned like a shark. The gang started to make their way through the crowd toward them.

Sybil was oblivious. She was intent on hearing every word the speaker said.

Red-hair weaved through the crowd toward them. One man confronted him, and there was a mini tussle. Suddenly, the Red-hair bonked the gentleman on the head with his fist. The man instantly collapsed, without a sound.

The Irishman had had enough. His first priority was Sybil, the second was his job. Turning, he scooped a surprised Sybil into his arms and barged through the mass of people as quickly as possible. She was at first in shock, and then as she realized they were leaving, she struggled to get free.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. "We haven't seen the speaker yet! Put me down!"

Branson ignored her protests and made his way to the car. One of the windows was smashed in, and the backseat was covered with glass. He set her on the front seat bench.

"Mi'lady, trust my judgement. We need to get out of here right now. Do you understand?"

Stunned, Sybil nodded.

Branson climbed into the car and put it into drive. He sped quickly through the streets of Ripon and did not slow until they were out of the main town and on the less traveled road to Downton. The two figures sat shoulder-to-shoulder in silence.

Finally Branson began, "Mi'lady, why did you disobey your father?"

She looked at him, incredulous. "I thought you of all people would understand! I wanted to see the by-election, and he being the tyrannical ruler forbade me to go. Am I not entitled to any rights within my own home?"

"I just want you to be safe-" Branson began, realizing how furious she was at being carried out like a child. But his words only seemed to make things worse.

"I can make my own decisions! I am not a child anymore! I don't need to be watched over by a chauffeur as a nanny! I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself!" She shifted as far away from him as she could on the crowded bench.

Branson's heart sank. Now she would surely hate him. He closed his mouth to avoid evoking her wrath any further.

They were quiet the rest of the way home. When they arrived at Downton, she climbed out and rushed inside.

Branson slowly drove the car back to the garage. He jumped out, and kicked the wall as hard as he could. "Nice going, you idiot! Now she'll never like you!"

The chauffeur didn't join the rest of the staff for dinner. He was in his cottage, sulking from his bad afternoon.

The night was falling, and the stars were just visible when he heard a knock on his door.

"Who is it?" Branson called out, not bothering to extend the courtesy of physically greeting the visitor.

He heard feet shuffling on the outside. "It's me, Branson, it's Sybil."

He scrambled to get to the door. "Mi-lady-"

"Enough with the formality, please, it's just Sybil."

"Yes, mi-, I mean, Sybil." He waited for her to speak, but she hung her head and began to cry.

Branson was in an uncomfortable situation. He wanted to hug her and dry her tears, but instead he searched his pockets until he came up with a ratty handkerchief. Embarassed, he offered it to her.

Sybil accepted the rag and blew her nose. It took a minute for her to compose herself. When she looked up at him, it was with red-rimmed eyes.

"Branson-"

"Please," he interupted her. "Call me Tom."

"Tom, I-I have been so horrid to you. The by-election today in Ripon-" she paused, and dried her eyes. "Three men and a woman were injured, and two were killed. There was a big fight that broke out. One of the men-" she broke out into sobs again.

Branson, realizing how upset she truly was, touched her shoulder.

"Wait a minute, Sybil. Let me get a chair for you."

She nodded, and sniffled as he retreated inside. Tom walked backwards, so as to watch her, but in doing so he knocked over his drink that had been setting on his table. The beverage spillled, and doused the only chair he had in the cottage. Branson tried to dry off the chair, but it was sticky, and of no avail. Cursing silently, he grabbed a blanket off of his bed. Hopefully her ladyship wouldn't mind the ground.

"I'm sorry, mi-, I mean Sybil. Because of my clumsiness, the chair is unavailable. I hope you don't mind?"  
He folded the blanket into thirds and laid it on the earth. She sank to the ground and sat there, shivering. Tom gallantly took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. He sat beside her, off of the blanket.

She looked him in the eyes. "After all you've done for me, you can sit on the blanket as well, Tom. I've treated you terribly, and yet you're still so kind to me. How can I ever repay you?"

Tom hesitated, and then joined her, sitting crosslegged on the blanket. "Tell me what happened today," he probed, as gently as he could.

She took a deep breath. "Matthew saw me, at the by-election, and he knew there would be trouble. He came to the forum to find me, and get me out of there, but he was caught in a brawl. He," Sybil paused.

"Oh no." said Branson. "He's not-?"

"He's alive," she hastily replied. "But he was seriously injured. said he might not live through the night. Mary and Aunt Isobel are staying up with him, making sure his condition is stable. The injured people at the election were all well-off and wealthy. The men robbed them. Papa says-"

Branson interrupted her. "You told Lord Grantham?"

Sybil continued, "Papa says that it was a good thing I wasn't there today, as I would have been an easy target."  
She looked up at him. "Tom, I," She suddenly flung her arms around his neck.

"You saved my life," she whispered, her lips just shy of his ear. "And I was so horrid to you."

Tom, altough surprised, was quick to recover. He carefully placed his arms around her, and enveloped her in a big hug.

"Is there anyway I can repay you? I'm not sure what you like, but maybe I could increase your pay without Papa knowing, or," she trailed off.

Branson broke the hug and looked at her. "Sybil," he ventured. "May I, I mean"

"Yes, Tom, what is it?"

"May I kiss you?" he blurted. Although it was too dark to make out her features, he could tell she was shocked, and flustered.

"I-I, I suppose you can." she finished. "If it wasn't for you, I probably wouldn't be here, so yes."

"Alright then," he said. He placed his hand under her chin and slowly lifted her head up to meet his. Tom pressed his lips, gently, against hers.

A sudden howling in the distance startled them both, and they quickly broke apart. They looked at each other, and then down at the ground, each slightly embarassed.

Sybil stood up, and Tom quickly followed suit.

"Well," Sybil started. "I suppose I'd better go. Thank you for everything, Tom. I hope we'll be great friends."

She started away, then turned around and came back. Hesitantly, she took his hand in hers, than stood up on her tiptoes and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. "Thank you for saving me, Tom." she murmured. Then she turned on her heel and strode away, back to the Abbey.


End file.
